The scene from the past:
The child stood at the edge of the tower, gazing out from behind a wide glass window that stretched to the horizon. The tower was tall, piercing the sky as if challenging the earth crumbling beneath it. From this height, the world appeared small, merely a chaotic painting with its pieces torn apart.
In the distance below, people were running in all directions, their screams reaching the child's ears like faint whispers. Fires were consuming the buildings, and columns of smoke rose mercilessly, as if the sky itself had chosen to close its doors on this doomed world.
But the child did not move. His eyes, innocent for his age, were still as if he were watching something familiar. There were no tears, not even a slight tremor in his body. Only a heavy silence.
Behind him, the room was filled with laughter. A group of people, dressed in elegant clothes, sat around a round table. Their glasses, filled with golden-colored drinks, swayed with every laugh, and their voices rose in cheerfulness, a stark contrast to the scene outside.
___
Present:
Kyle suddenly woke up, his body trembling and his eyes widening in terror. He sat up on the bed with difficulty, panting, looking around in shock: "Where am I? What happened?"
The mysterious man, who had previously ordered the infiltrator to stop, was standing a short distance away, watching him in silence. After a moment, he spoke in a calm tone: "Calm down... you need to rest. Your wounds haven't healed yet."
Kyle looked at himself and saw his body wrapped in bandages, as if every part of him was groaning under the weight of pain. He tried to gather his scattered thoughts as he asked, "Where am I? And who are you?"
He replied in a steady voice, full of mystery: "You are in the capital."
Kyle was stunned, his eyes wide: "The capital? How... how did I get here?"
The man ignored his direct questions and said in a tone that left no room for argument, "I don't have time to explain right now. When you heal... you will know everything."
Then, he slowly turned and left the room, leaving Kyle submerged in questions with no answers.
Kyle sat on the bed for several minutes, trying to make sense of what had happened. His mind was weighed down with questions and scattered memories. He remembered being with Arin, who was in the middle of a fierce battle, and how he ended up here, in an unfamiliar place. Everything was blurry in his mind, but one thing was clear: something unnatural was happening.
Kyle gathered his scattered thoughts with difficulty and got up from the bed. He walked slowly toward the door and opened it. Ahead of him stretched a long corridor, dimly lit, with rows of rooms that looked identical. Everything was eerily quiet, and the silence weighed heavily on his chest. He didn't know where to go, so he chose a random path, trying to calm his anxiety as he took hesitant steps.
As he wandered, Kyle was struck by the design of the place. The walls were adorned with strange carvings, as if they belonged to a different era. The floor was eerily clean, reflecting the dim light in a way that added to the unsettling atmosphere.
Suddenly, he came face to face with a familiar figure. The infiltrator stood there, at the end of the hallway, with his stern features and sharp eyes. Kyle knew him well, and his memories of him were anything but comforting.
The infiltrator said in a calm tone, but with a weight to it: "What are you doing here?"
Kyle fell to the ground from sheer fear, trembling as he tried to find the words: "No... nothing..."
The infiltrator moved toward him, looking at him coldly, then said in a brief tone, "Get up. I don't have time for you."
He then continued on his way as if Kyle's presence meant nothing, leaving the boy lying on the ground, trying to gather his courage again.
After Kyle regained partial consciousness, he found himself wandering down a long hallway dimly lit. The decorated walls bore strange engravings, as if hiding buried secrets. Everything around him was unnervingly quiet, except for the sound of his footsteps echoing in the emptiness.
As he walked, he suddenly stopped when his ears caught a strange melody. It wasn't just music; it carried a deep sorrow, as if the tunes were mourning a time long past. He hesitated for a moment, then decided to follow the sound.
His steps led him to a dark iron door, which seemed to guard something behind it. Without touching it, the door slowly opened, revealing a scene he hadn't anticipated.
Inside, there was a massive arena with a circular ring in the center, its dim lights adding an indescribable sense of awe to the place. In the middle of the ring stood a boy with short black hair, tattoos intricately winding around his neck, as if hiding a long story. He wore elegant formal attire, but his presence was far more imposing than his appearance.
Around the boy, small knives spun in harmony, emitting sounds like an enchanting melody. These knives were not mere deadly tools; they seemed like an extension of his soul, moving with unparalleled grace, as if dancing to the tune of sorrow.
Kyle, mesmerized by the scene, took a step forward without realizing it. There was something in the movement of the knives that drew him in, a mix of beauty and horror.
"Don't come any closer."
A heavy voice echoed behind him, and Kyle found himself face to face with a tall man, his face marked with scars and features carved as if by time. His eyes pierced into Kyle, as though they could see the secrets hidden in his heart.
Kyle, unable to suppress his confusion, asked hesitantly, "Who are you? And what am I doing in this place?"
The man didn't answer directly. Instead, he raised his voice, addressing the boy in the arena: "Silvin, come here."
In an instant, the boy was standing before them. Kyle hadn't sensed his movement, as if the boy had teleported in the blink of an eye. The boy bowed slightly in respect and said in a soft voice, "Yes, sir?"
The old man looked at Kyle, then said in a calm tone, but with a heavy weight: "He is one of the survivors."
He then turned to the boy and said, "Show him around."
Sylvin looked at Kyle with a blank stare, then said in a tone devoid of any expression, "Come with me."
Despite his hesitation, Kyle felt he had no choice but to follow this mysterious boy, who seemed to hold the key to what was happening around him.
___
Aren walks in silence on the abandoned road, the silence surrounding him like a creature devouring everything. His face is covered with patches of dried blood, and his eyes seem to stare into the void, thinking of something far away. The ruins of collapsed buildings surround him on all sides, like ghosts watching his heavy steps that strike the cracked ground.
As he walks, his thoughts are interrupted by the sound of rapid footsteps behind him. Heavy, hesitant steps, followed by the sound of a man gasping for breath, as if running for his life.
Arin turned slowly, his cold eyes watching the man approaching him. He was a middle-aged man, his body covered in bruises and his clothes torn. His face bore a distorted expression of fear, as though something terrifying was chasing him.
The man reached Arin, standing in front of him, panting heavily as he tried to catch his breath. He shouted in a hoarse voice, "Please... help me! He's coming to kill me!"
Arin showed no expression. His eyes watched the man coldly, as if the story meant nothing to him. After a moment, he slightly tilted his head and silently stepped aside, as if saying, "Go on... I won't interfere."
The man, terrified, hesitated for a moment while looking at Arin, then continued running without turning back. Arin didn't take his gaze off the path the man had come from, eagerly waiting to see what had frightened him.
Suddenly, another person appeared from behind the rubble. A young man around the same age as Arin, but his appearance was strikingly different. His body was slender, and his clothes were tattered, showing signs of age and wear. On his wrists and ankles, there were old metal shackles that had left deep scars on his skin.
What caught Arin's attention was the tattoo on the young man's shoulder. A feather split in half, as if a symbol of slavery that still haunted him. Despite his obvious exhaustion, his eyes held a silent defiance, as though refusing to surrender to reality.
The young man continued to advance with heavy steps, as if time itself slowed in his presence. His eyes were rigid, focused on the fleeing man as though they were piercing the depths of his fear. There was nothing on his face that suggested human emotion—no mercy, no anger, nothing but deadly silence.
The man, gasping for breath, collapsed to his knees, struggling to gather what little strength he had left, but his trembling legs betrayed him. His body was exhausted, and his screams came out as broken whispers in the midst of this forsaken world.
The young man, silently approaching, held a small, gleaming knife in his hand, its faint shine catching the shy sunlight. As he drew closer, he suddenly lunged. The knife struck the man's eye with deadly precision. A horrifying scream shattered the silence around them.
Through the pain and his broken cries, the man stammered:
"You ungrateful slave... If it weren't for me... you would be dead by now!"
But the young man showed no reaction. His face remained expressionless, as if the words had not reached him. A deadly silence surrounded them, while the man's screams and words faded into the void of the ruined world.
As the man attempted to crawl away, the young man grabbed his hair with a firm grip. He slowly removed the knife from the man's eye, leaving behind a trail of blood. Then, he looked toward Arin, who had been watching the scene from a distance, and asked him in a calm voice, yet heavy with sorrow:
"In your opinion... what is the appropriate punishment for someone who has enslaved you since childhood?"
Arin, standing at a distance, showed no clear expression. He remained silent for a moment, then a malicious smile spread across his face as he said coldly, "Death... but in the most brutal ways."
The young man smiled in return, as if the answer had come exactly as he expected. He gripped the man's hair tightly, then plunged the knife into his throat quickly and decisively, causing blood to spill in a silent and savage scene. He let the man's lifeless body fall to the ground, and the echo of his dying breath gradually faded.
The young man looked at his iron chains and touched the tattoo on his shoulder, a feather split into two halves. He muttered in a tone that carried deep despair, "Slavery isn't just in the chains... but in our choices too."
Aren, who had been watching the scene from the start without saying a word, took a few steps forward before turning to leave. But just before he fully turned away, the young man spun around. He asked, locking his gaze on Aren with intensity, "Isn't that right?"
Aren did not respond. He gave the young man a fleeting glance before turning away and walking off silently, leaving behind blood and lost souls.